Months
by sUnKiSsT
Summary: Mary wasn't the only person Amara brought back...


Note: So this is another one I started a while ago and never got around to finishing. I had this theory that maybe Mary wasn't the only person that was brought back and this idea formed. I thought I should post it before the 300th episode airs!

This story starts at the same time that Mary returns. It's a bit different from my usual stuff, but hopefully you enjoy it!

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 **Months**

 **MONTH ONE**

He comes to in an old, overgrown cemetery. The kind that hasn't been visited by the living in a long-assed time. No picturesque looking family coming by to lay some flowers on grandmas' grave, no winding paths with neatly trimmed bushes, or shiny new granite headstones.

Not a single living person in sight.

It's nighttime, a deep darkness that's broken only by a large moon. The air is cold, but there are buds on the trees and spring grass growing around his boots. He does a slow circle, taking in every possible detail, eyes catching on the grave of a name he knows extremely well, even if he never knew the guy.

 _Samuel Colt_

Staring at the name engraved on the ancient marble, his brow furrows as he tries to remember how in the hell he got here. Nothing. Not one damn clue as to how he ended up in this graveyard.

"Okay…what in the actual fuck?" John Winchester curses out loud.

His only response is crickets.

 **MONTH TWO**

It takes a few weeks for him to really get his bearings. He hitchhikes to the closest town, goes to find a motel room, only to realize that he has no ID.

No credit cards, licenses, not even a god damn empty wallet. He snarls in frustration, the kindly driver that had taken him this far peels out of the motel parking lot as soon as he's clear of the truck. He stands there, hands in his jacket pockets.

Whatever had happened, as least he's still got the clothes on his back. Finding a ride would've been next to impossible if he'd been buck-ass naked.

 _It's the little things._

Dean's snarky voice floats on by, and his heart clenches a little.

His boys. Where were his boys? How long had it been? He'd asked the truck driver for the date.

Over ten years. _Ten years._ A lifetime for hunters. They could be dead, for all he knows…dead and long buried.

 _No._

He growls and stomps over to the small office. The bored guy at the counter leans back at the sight of him.

"Library, where?" He demands, fire and desperation behind dark eyes.

 **MONTH THREE**

Three months later and he's got a wallet full of fake credit cards, a phoney ID and birth certificate. The cell phone, more modern and complicated then he remembers, takes some time to adjust to. But he's smart, and desperate – he learns and learns fast.

He's done the online research, tried calling the boys on the numbers that he remembers. He tries Bobby and Mac and a dozen more old friends.

None answer, and he's not all that surprised.

The internet says his boys are dead, a few times over. He's not the hacker Sam was – _IS_ – so he doesn't get much further than Google. He won't – can't believe what he finds, because his kids are smart and the authorities had gotten it wrong before.

He hasn't forgotten about the Skin Walker that took Dean's form back in '05.

John reads that he died after a car crash in 2006, he remembers the hospital. He remembers saving Dean, making a deal with Yellow Eyes, it comes back in flash as he reads through his own obituary.

It has Sammy all over it, he can practically see his son muttering it out to himself while writing it out.

Had the demon gotten to his youngest son?

 **MONTH FOUR**

He finally travels to South Dakota. With nothing but a few weapons for defense, a paltry amount considering what he'd had before he'd died.

Because he had died. He'd gone to Hell, been gone for over a decade – and he still doesn't remember anything between now and then.

If he's honest with himself, he doesn't really want to remember.

He steps out of his shit box of a car, the thing shudders when he turns it off, and stares at what used to be Bobby Singers place.

The house is gone, the remnants of a foundation remain, and a few rusty cars are strewn about the property, most removed after the place burnt to ash a few years ago. He doesn't want to be here. He shouldn't have come.

John scrubs a hand through his beard and exhales harshly.

 **MONTH SEVEN**

He stays in South Dakota for three months. Making it his home base as he starts from scratch. The same obsessive behaviour he'd obtained during the hunt for Yellow Eyes slowly returns.

He papers his motel room walls with maps, lists of locations and names, looking for sightings of his kids dating back to 2006. He takes on a full time job in the community, getting paid cash to fix cars for cheap. He stows the cash away because he needs more.

More weapons.

A reliable car.

First aid supplies.

Because he's going on a hunt, only this one is different from the last.

If he has to search every state, every crappy off the highway town, he will. He is going to find his boys.

 **MONTH EIGHT**

He's only out of South Dakota for two weeks when he stumbles across the nest.

Vampires.

Stalking an innocent sleepy town in Oregon. They probably hadn't had a homicide in years before the vampires rolled in.

He wants to keep moving, keep searching – but he can't. He hangs around to see, but no hunters come forward to deal with the infestation. Two girls go missing while he waits.

So he takes care of it, a savage pleasure overtakes him when he slices off the last head. One girl is still alive, and he feels lighter when she thanks him with a haunted face full a relief and tears.

He decides to hunt while he looks, if he runs into anything. The hunting keeps him sharp – and he needs to be on his game.

 **MONTH NINE**

A pissed off spirit nearly takes him out in Nevada. He wakes up in a hospital with a cast up to his knee, three broken ribs and more stitches than he cares to count.

It's over a month before he's fully mobile again, and he curses the lost time.

 **MONTH TEN**

Back on the road, in Wisconsin. He doesn't have any real contacts. As far as he can tell, all of his old hunting partners are dead. But the internet is as good a place to look for things as any. He hears about werewolves, and he goes.

Sam and Dean could be there themselves.

Instead he finds Garth.

 **MONTH ELEVEN**

John finds himself in a greasy diner, sitting across from a perfectly civil, albeit very scrawny, werewolf. It wasn't hard to find Garth. In fact- Garth found him.

He stares, dumfounded, as the younger man chatters away. Chugging black coffee in copious amounts as he explains how he and his pack are different from the other werewolves – the ones with no control. John is still considering this new angle, wondering if it can possibly be true, can he really leave a werewolf alive?

But these thoughts are stopped dead in their tracks when he catches the next sentence.

"So then Sam and Dean hung around for a bit – those two – they can be so dramatic some – "

Posture straightening, John tries hard not to show any reaction, but he can't stop himself from interrupting the hunter slash werewolf, "The Winchesters?"

Garth nods enthusiastically. "Of course, everyone knows who they are – can't save the world a few times over without that happening. I think Dean hates the attention – but he hides behind that macho exterior. Does the same thing with Sam, but anyone who isn't blind can see how much he – "

John raises an eyebrow at the sudden stop in speech, but Garth just shrugs sheepishly, "I talk too much sometimes. Ooops."

"You see them often?" John asks carefully, leaning back against the vinyl booth, his heart is pounding against his chest, but he forces himself to come off as relaxed.

Garth frowns, eyes narrowed – not in suspicion, but in thought. "You know them?" He asks, tapping his spoon absently against the worn tabletop.

Johns first thought is to lie, his mouth opens – a perfectly thought up fabrication ready.

Instinct stops him. This man is friends with his kids – they clearly trust him.

He shakes his head a little, scratching at his stubble as he appraises the younger man. "You won't believe me." He finally grunts.

"You'd be surprised."

John tells him everything that he can remember.

 **MONTH TWELVE**

He stands outside of the hidden bunker, hands in his pockets, collar turned up against the chilly spring wind. It has taken nearly a year to find his boys.

John can see them from his concealed spot in the trees – they look beaten and miserable, but they are sitting side by side, shoulders milometers from touching, just like always.

He lets out a breath when they stand, walking in perfect sync back to the entrance of the home they've found. He can see the pain and grief in their walk, in they way their shoulders are set. When Dean scratches at his stubbled cheek in aggravation and when Sam runs a hand through his long hair.

His sons disappear through a door, the metal screeching as it closes behind them. Heart thundering, John steps forward, walking on wobbly legs towards the same door – and wonders what will happen next.

He stops in front of the thick metal, takes a deep breath, and knocks without hesitation.

 **END.**

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I hope you liked it - please let me know your thoughts!


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